


Three Cops Who Have Travelled Afar

by DancouMaryuu



Series: A Zootopian Miscellany [6]
Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Remembrance, a bit of exposition
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-26
Updated: 2018-12-26
Packaged: 2019-09-28 00:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17172767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DancouMaryuu/pseuds/DancouMaryuu
Summary: As Christmas Eve winds down, Chief Bogo takes part in a holiday tradition of his own.





	Three Cops Who Have Travelled Afar

**Author's Note:**

> A (belated) Christmas fic for ya! This time it's not for a contest, so it's not rushed!
> 
> This fic takes place during and after "I'll Be Home for Foxmas," just so you know.
> 
> Just one more thing before you read: Zootopia uses its own calendar era - the Common Calendar - that starts in the human year 1781 CE (before then, mammals of different species used different calendars). For reference, the events of the movie took place in the year 235 CC (2016 CE). This fic takes place a year after that.

Adrian Bogo could hear the sounds of the old swivel chair slowly edging closer towards breaking underneath him. That was the trouble with being a big mammal; you had to really pay up for furniture your size, and the most affordable stuff was generally of poor quality. And with City Hall frequently going for the lowest bidder, he’d grown used to cheap-arse furniture since joining the police.

The Cape buffalo slowly ran a hoof down his face. Lord knows it was only getting paler these days. At this rate, he’d look like a skull had been drawn on his face in chalk by the time he retired.

Retirement…

Bogo sighed. Aaron was already thinking of retiring early – and he was only ten or so years older than Bogo. Veteran officers like him were hard to come by these days. Case in point; most of Precinct 1 was in their twenties or thirties. Even his most recently promoted sergeant – who had two young cubs – was only in his mid-thirties himself.

Speak of the devil, in came Danny Fangmeyer. “Sir?” said the tiger.

“Sergeant?” Since Danny’s promotion, it felt good for Bogo to have a more formal way of verbally distinguishing him from his sister, Precinct 1 Officer Frieda Fangmeyer.

“Shift’s changing, sir,” said Danny. “Do you need me for…?”

“No, Sergeant. I don’t,” said Bogo. “Go home.”

Danny’s tail rose as his expression brightened. “Thank you, sir!” With a quick salute, the tiger was off.

Bogo could tell Danny wanted to spend more time with his wife and cubs – especially now over the holidays. Just about everyone had been very disappointed when Bogo had announced he was cutting down everyone’s holiday vacation time. But it couldn't be helped - not with Acting Mayor Guelke breathing down his neck.

The buffalo snorted. What was it with mayors and political meddling?! Loathe as he was to admit it, after Lionheart and Bellwether, a part of him wished Hopps and Wilde would make it a hat trick and bring Guelke in in cuffs.

But it wasn’t like stupid, meddling politicians weren’t a problem before Lionheart. If it hadn’t been for Loxor and Moss…!

Bogo shook his head. It was the holidays, dammit! Time to eat, drink ( _water!_ ) and be merry! Get all that stupidity out of your head for a second!

Bogo stepped out of his office and noticed Hopps and Wilde chatting with Clawhauser. Might as well try another ‘look-see,’ as Aaron would call it.

Ever since the Night Howler Crisis, Bogo had become worried that he was losing his edge. He hadn’t quite forgiven himself for misjudging Hopps – to say nothing of Bellwether. Since then, he’d tried to knock some rust off the gears and be more observant. Practicing on his own officers had the added benefit of getting a better feel for how his Precinct worked.

Hopps didn’t seem to have all of her usual vigor – she’d probably planned to visit her family in Bunnyburrow before the vacation time cutback, but she seemed a little happier now. Obviously she had a backup plan or something – was Wilde or Clawhauser involved?

Clawhauser looked more downcast. He and his brother usually spent Christmas together. Something must have interfered with their plans. Not the shorter vacation time – they would still have had enough time for their usual trip to the Red No. 3 sports bar. It must have been a recent interruption, too – Clawhauser had been his usual, chipper self when he’d first come on shift that day.

Now for Wilde…

Nothing but smirk, smirk, and more smirk.

Bogo’s teeth clenched. It was like staring at a brick wall – and each brick was made of pure  _smug_.

Zootopia’s first fox police officer had proven a hard nut to crack. Bogo had seen the background checks into Nick Wilde’s past; he knew what sort of activities the fox had done before joining the force. The idea of a con-artist like him putting up a defense for Officer Hopps back during the Missing Mammals case seemed unthinkable, and yet he had done it.

Then, after Wilde had applied for the ZPA, Bogo had experienced another contradiction as Wilde had actually somehow been harder on himself than the background checks had been when discussing the matter with the Chief. It had sounded like the fox had _wanted_ to join the police, but hadn’t _expected_ to – which made no sense to Bogo. One generally didn’t go through the academy without some hope that they’d graduate. Wilde then threw another layer of confusion into this with the silent but prideful way he had accepted his badge on graduation.

Bogo had hoped these contradictions would be resolved once Wilde made it through the academy, but he was to be disappointed. One day, that fox was joking around with Grizzoli and Delgato about how useless PR duties were; the next, he was offering to represent the ZPD at the Pawlo Grounds Redevelopment Project groundbreaking ceremony.

It wasn’t incompetence; Wilde was good at his job by himself – even more when partnered with Hopps. He had all the qualities that Hopps had said he would bring to the force; street-smarts, observation skills, and skills in relating to other mammals. 

Bogo sighed as Wilde and Hopps left the building together; one day he’d figure that fox out – he could wait.

For now, he had an appointment to keep.

“Sir?” came a voice at Bogo’s side. There was Lieutenant Mick Higgins – probably the only Precinct 1 officer who was older than Bogo.

“Higgins?” the slightest hint of a smile appeared on Bogo’s face.

“Aaron’s downstairs,” said the hippopotamus.

Bogo began to step back in his office. “I’ll get my coat…”

* * *

When Bogo and Higgins got downstairs, they were surprised to find _two_ Wolfards standing in front of Precinct 1’s memorial wall.

One was Luke Wolfard, Precinct 1’s youngest officer until Hopps had shown up. Luke was chatting about casework to the other, taller, much older wolf, acting like the latter was his superior in the force.

The other was Tundratown Borough Chief Aaron Wolfard, Luke’s uncle. Aaron just chuckled at his nephew’s recollections, trying to inject a bit of informality into them.

Looking at them now, Bogo could see the family resemblance. Both were dark grey timber wolves with contrasting white fur on their bellies. However, Aaron was almost a head taller than his nephew, had much more grizzled, more faded fur, and a notch was cut in his right ear, a "badge of courage" from a scuffle with a drug store-robbing lynx god-knew-how-many years ago.

The conversation seemed to be winding down, as Aaron gave Luke a noogie, before Luke pushed his way out of the headlock and said goodbye, making for the locker room.

“Good night, sirs! Merry Christmas!” said Luke as he passed Bogo and Higgins, giving a quick salute.

Bogo watched Luke for a short bit before turning back to Aaron, who was staring at the memorial wall.

“Aaron?” said Bogo.

The old wolf turned to Bogo, a smile forming across his muzzle. “Hello, Adrian. Sorry to keep you guys waiting.”

“No need to apologize, Aaron,” said Bogo. “We might actually be a bit early.”

“With all the pickpockets around Aquavitae, I guess we’re all eager to get on with our night,” said Higgins.

“Fair enough,” said Aaron. “Shall we?”

* * *

Much of the night passed as it had every year; a trip to The Hoof-Dwelling Frog for them to drown themselves in beer (well, Higgins and Aaron anyway – Bogo stuck with ice water). It always surprised Bogo how well those two could hold their liquor.

For decades, they had been going to the Hoof-Dwelling Frog for Christmas Eve drinks, eschewing the 10-30 closer to Precinct 1. Here, they could leave their uniforms behind and forget they were cops for a bit. After all, no other cops tended to go here.

In their merriment, such things as sports teams, holiday plans, family antics, and the absurdity of celebrating some Christmas traditions in Zootopia, which could hardly be called a winter wonderland (unless you were in Tundratown obviously). Talk of arrest rates, Precinct transfers, and internal politics was reserved for bar visits on the other 364 days of the year.

Ted Bruinswick, the black bear bartender, was as friendly as always. Young as he was, you couldn’t have asked for a better mammal to succeed his father.

As the three senior officers’ time in the bar wound down, Ted bent over and extended a bottle of scotch over the bar. “Chief Bogo?”

“Thank you, Ted,” Bogo accepted the bottle, but didn’t uncork it.

“Just a nip, Adrian!” said Higgins, throwing an arm over Bogo’s shoulder. Unlike Aaron, Higgins only referred to Bogo by his first name after having a drink. “I think at this point, even _he’d_ want you to ease up.”

“I’ll ease up when I’m in there with him, Mick,” said Bogo, placing the bottle in a bag, staring at it for a while before reaching for his wallet.

* * *

Their trip to Hoof-Dwelling Frog done, Bogo drove the three to their final destination.

The night watchmammal at Kilimanjaro Graveyard was retired cop himself, so he knew the drill, same as Ted did. After getting out of the car, the three fell silent, slowly winding their way among the headstones until they reached the top of a small hill, where the grave they were looking for was located.

It was two markers with matching fonts. The one on the left had a ZPD badge beside the main text. It read:

**CECIL CLAY HORNBY**

**BELOVED HUSBAND**

**BORN: SEPT. 18, 174**

**END OF WATCH: NOV. 4, 220**

**WE SHALL REMEMBER**

The grave to the right was for Jill Hornby, who had followed her husband to the grave eleven years later.

Aaron was the first to speak. “Hello, Ces. Merry Christmas!”

“Been a helluva year, I can tell ya that!” said Higgins. “Not up to the last one, but still, things were pretty damn eventful, even for just P1!”

“The MII kept chugging away,” said Bogo. “Guelke’s put a hold on it, but not before us at the ZPD got our first fox cop.”

“Oh yeah, Ratcliffe’s out - he resigned,” said Aaron. “Couldn’t get out of Bellwether’s shadow, I guess. Nathan Guelke’s the Mayor now.”

“He’s finding a way to screw things up already,” Bogo groaned. “It’s thanks to him that we were late coming here. He wanted P1 to clamp down on petty thefts in the Center, so I had to cut my officers’ vacation time. It’s like you said, there’s no such thing as a politician who won’t screw you over  _some_ way or another.”

“Had a plane crash into an apartment complex a while ago,” said Higgins. “Killed over fifty mammals. Total clusterfuzz…”

“Some of us were there, Captain,” said Bogo, remembering hearing the news of the crash. “We didn’t lose any of our own – neither did the fire department. We did our best. That’s all we can say, really.”

“Oh, speaking of Happytown, they’re rebuilding the Pawlo Grounds – as a field for the Police Athletic League,” said Aaron. “Gonna have a little sports museum and everything.”

“’Course you were a Monarchs fan, so I don’t know what you’d think of that.” said Higgins.

“Oof! I forgot that.” Aaron winced. “Sorry, Ces. Forgive this lapse in an old dog’s memory.” The aged wolf chuckled.

The rhino’s gravestone was silent.

“Anyway, Adrian’s got the goods,” Aaron stepped back so Bogo could approach the marker.

The buffalo then removed a foldout corkscrew from his pocket, used it to uncork the bottle, then poured half its contents over the gravestone.

“Oh, give him a little more, Adrian!” said Aaron.

“Sorry, Aaron,” said Bogo. “Ces always said he wanted to take Jill out for drinks somewhere nice.”

Bogo then poured the remainder of the bottle over the adjacent grave. “Sorry, Jill. Hope this is enough.”

There was a brief bit of silence.

“He died this year,” said Aaron to the gravestone. “The fox that…”

“He was killed by another inmate,” explained Bogo. “Don’t know where he’s buried. Not sure he had any family.”

“Hope that’s some consolation…” said Higgins.

The conversation drifted off. After some more silence, the three began talking about politics, sports, and other oddities that their onetime superior had loved. Soon, they bade the headstone goodbye, promising to bring another bottle next year.

“Sixteen years and it still feels weird having Christmas Eve drinks without him,” sighed Aaron.

“It’s good to keep things regular,” said Bogo. “He always said routine was key.”

“Yeah…” said the grizzled wolf. “What’ll you do if I go? I’m still not sure if I should go here or to Tundratown Polar Springs Cemetary. What if I wind up there?”

“We’ll get the exercise, Aaron,” said Bogo. “We’d get a white Christmas at least.”

Aaron laughed. “It’d still split us up though. That’d feel weird. Maybe I should rig up a way to send messages from my coffin – you could take them to Ces.”

Bogo snorted with a suppressed laugh.

“But seriously, Adrian,” said Aaron. “I’m not getting any younger. I’ve done a lot in this life; it’s not so unrealistic to think about what happens next, or opportunities you’re cutting off just by being around.”

“You’re _not_ a waste of space, Aaron,” said Bogo, giving a rare glare to his partner-turned-superior-turned subordinate. “I need good, proven officers to help the next generation to its feet.”

“Yeah…” Aaron sighed before turning to Higgins. “Hey, Mick! Could you wait up for us?”

“Sure!”

The two remained where they were while Higgins continued downhill.

“Adrian,” said Aaron. “You know I trust your judgment, and I’m sure you felt I was the best candidate for Tundratown Borough Chief, but I gotta ask; was that it?”

“Was what it?” said Bogo.

“Did you feel like I was gonna have your job back when Loxor picked you?”

Bogo averted his eyes. “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“I think we should,” said Aaron, stopping in front of Bogo. “All your talk of that bunny's got me wondering if Moss had anything to do with it.”

Bogo scowled as he remembered former Mayor Daniel Loxor and his Assistant Mayor, Jarett Moss. The former, a milquetoast, upper-crust elephant, the latter a perpetually frowning, hard-nosed rabbit.

Aaron always did have a good nose for hidden motives.

“Alright, Aaron,” said Bogo. “I admit it. I thought – and still think – that if Loxor was willing to appoint a Captain and not a Borough Chief, it should have been you. You were more qualified and more experienced. Far as I’m concerned, you'd already earned the job. But we both know what that idiot Moss was like – those recordings show what he thought of predators – and we all knew what hold he had over Loxor at the time.”

“Well then, why’d you take it?” said Aaron.

“Because I thought that if I didn’t take it, and you weren’t going to get it, Loxor would have picked someone worse – Humperdink, for instance.” said Bogo. “But what’s Hopps got to do with anything?”

“You said you were hard on Hopps,” said Aaron. “Was that because you had Moss in the back of your mind?”

Bogo glanced over the graves to his left before answering. “The thought has crossed my mind. At the time I thought it was just like Lionheart to make so much fuss about a rabbit officer. I figured it was his way of trying to get the bunny vote after beating Moss in the runoff. But…” Bogo let out a long sigh as he looked back towards Aaron. “Perhaps I _was_ taking my frustrations with Lionheart, Moss, Loxor and all the rest out on her. I'm not sure, really.”

Bogo’s expression softened. “But in any case, we all know Moss hated you – we all know he didn’t want you to become Chief. It was blatantly unfair of Loxor to pick me and not you, and we both know why he did.”

“No, Adrian,” said Aaron, averting his eyes before training them firmly up at the buffalo. “I didn’t say anything at the time because I wanted to think you had earned the job – and you have – but the truth is, the reason you became Chief wasn’t because Moss said no. It was because _I_ said no.”

Bogo stared at Aaron. “What?!”

“Loxor came to me one day,” Aaron averted his eyes again. “He said that he felt that a senior officer like me was a good pick for the job. He said Moss would probably throw a fit, but he was planning to not run for a second term anyway, so it wasn’t like he would be able to do anything without looking like an idiot.”

Bogo couldn’t believe this. “Why didn’t you take it?!”

“I’m an old dog, Adrian,” sighed Aaron. “I was even then. I mean, Luke’s father is my _younger_ brother! That should say something. Plus, I was getting tired of all the politics and all the stress. It felt like my fur was already beginning to fall out… I just didn’t think I was capable. So, I told the Mayor that there was a better candidate; one younger, stronger, more efficient, with a better head for politics, but still knew how to get the job done…” The wolf looked up at Bogo with a smile. “You get the picture.”

The immense Cape buffalo could have been knocked down with a feather as the wind picked up.

“Mind you,” chuckled Aaron. “If you’d said no, I _might_ have taken the job.”

Bogo sighed. “Sometimes I think that you’d have handled Hopps, Lionheart, and Bellwether better than I did.”

Aaron shrugged. “For all we know, I might have fuzzed things up worse than you did.” A sharp-toothed grin burst across his graying muzzle. “I thought Moss was a no-good tailhole too, remember?”

Bogo chuckled. “Ces was right; ‘no such thing as a good politican!’”

The two shared a laugh.

“But seriously, Adrian,” said Aaron once they had both finished. “Quit beating yourself up about Hopps and Bellwether. The damage is done. You both know what you did wrong, but you’re still Chief, and Hopps is still under you. Why not make the most of it? Just learn from your mistakes, and… I dunno, let it go?”

Bogo stood still, then to Aaron’s surprise, broke out laughing – an uproarious laugh that Aaron had seldom heard from him.

“What’s so funny?!” said Aaron.

“I’ll tell you later, Aaron…” said Bogo, silencing his mirth while looking around the graveyard. “Where’s Higgins, anyway? He’s probably wondering-“

The buffalo suddenly stood stone still as something caught his eye.

“Why don’t you go back to the car?” said Bogo, not taking his eyes off what he’d seen. “There’s something I want to check out.”

Aaron, with his keen night vision, stared in the direction Bogo was looking, then noticed the form of a rabbit doe standing on a hill a short distance away – even from this distance, it was easy to recognize Judy Hopps.

“I see…” said Aaron. “Don’t take _too_ long. You’re driving, remember?”

Bogo then made his way among the gravestones, eyes locked on the distant rabbit, then becoming cognizant of a fox standing a ways away from the rabbit. At first, Bogo thought it was Wilde, but as he drew closer, he noticed that this fox was a vixen – an older one. As he pulled up behind a chestnut tree, glad he was downwind of the two, he noticed a second fox that undoubtedly _was_ Wilde kneeling down in front of a gravesite a few paces in front of the vixen.

Bogo was too far away to make out what Wilde was saying, but he had a look that Bogo had never seen on the fox. For once, the wall of smug had come down, replaced by an almost childlike earnestness. Bogo had actually seen this look once before – on Wilde’s graduation day. The look became especially pronounced when Wilde reached into his pocket, and showed to the spot on the ground a shiny object. Bogo’s eyes – not built for night vision – found it hard to make out, but given the size, and the black container, it was most likely Wilde’s badge.

It soon came in a flood of deductions – and possibilities. Who was in the grave? A family member? A mentor figure? The former seemed more probable, given this older vixen’s presence.

Speaking of whom, the vixen (Wilde’s mother?) soon walked up to Nick. Now, Bogo saw that she was carrying a long, flat box under her arm. The vixen opened it and revealed the contents to the younger tod. Wilde’s jaw dropped as he stared at what was inside it, before the fox pulled it out, revealing it to be a necktie – what color Bogo couldn’t make out. Wilde then undid the lighter tie he had on already over his Pawaiian print shirt, and handed it to the vixen.

At first, Wilde just stared at the new tie (was it expensive?) as the vixen placed the old tie in the box, laying it down. Then, the vixen slowly grasped the new tie, and Bogo watched her almost reverently lay it around Wilde’s neck. The odds of the vixen being Wilde’s mother increased exponentially in Bogo’s mind as he saw the typical scene of a mother tying her son’s tie. Once she was done, Wilde grasped the new tie in his paws,  glanced at the gravesite, then flung his arms around his mother. Bogo couldn’t see any tears on Wilde's face from his vantage point, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if there was some.

After leaving the embrace, Wilde stood there, staring at the tie for a bit. Then, he called to Hopps, whose ears perked up as she nervously ambled towards the two foxes. Wilde then turned toward the grave and began talking again, delivering a version of that smirk Bogo had grown used to. As she neared the grave, Hopps gave a short wave, followed by a few short words. After that, Wilde talked a little longer, interspersed with a few words from his mother or Hopps, then the three turned away from Bogo, heading for another entrance to the cemetary.

Once he was sure they wouldn't notice him, Bogo slowly made his way to the grave the trio had been visiting. It was a much smaller affair than Ces’s – obviously for a smaller mammal, but even then, it was marked only by a flat grave marker flush with the ground. Etched into this marker was;

**SEAMUS JONATHAN WILDE**

**LOVING HUSBAND AND FATHER**

**181-215**

Bogo glanced at the other exit to the cemetery, where Hopps and the Wildes were leaving, then back at the grave.

Bogo did the math; Wilde was only about a year younger now than his father (if this was indeed Wilde’s father in the grave) had been when he’d died.

This reminded Bogo that Wilde was older than most rookie officers. Was that fox even interested in promotion? Had he not expected to outlive his father? Too many bloody questions…

Still, he had a better handle on that fox’s mentality now than he had when he’d entered Kilimanjaro Cemetery.

Bogo sighed, then addressed the tombstone. “I’m guessing that indirectly I have you and that vixen to thank for some of my recent headaches. Don’t worry, I’ll try and make sure he doesn’t get into _too_ much trouble…”

With that, Bogo turned around, and began to walk back toward his car, where his living friends were waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> In case you were wondering about Bogo's paling face: Cape buffalos' faces grow paler with age. Looking at Bogo in the movie, it's evident that it's already started to happen to him.


End file.
